Return
by SingularToast
Summary: A son with no royal blood, and no eye on his throne. But perhaps there was something else at work that day, something beyond simple understanding. Sequel to 'Traitor'.
1. Chapter 1

**I'll try and explain things on the way, but this sequel follows on directly from the final scene in '**_**Traitor**_**' and a majority of the events and history written into that story will be contained here. I highly recommend reading '**_**Traitor**_**' first. There are spoilers for the movie, though this is another alternate ending.**

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><p>Vision was ripped away from him. He was shrouded in darkness for what felt like eternity, unable to feel or see with only his thoughts to remind him that he couldn't actually be dead.<p>

He'd been here before, in this abyss. He somehow knew that. However, knowing that he was here again only brought him a sense of foreboding, until the gloom around him gradually lightened. Colours began to blend through the inky blackness and a city street slowly formed before his eyes. But sand whipped through the air, blurring his sight and making it impossible to focus on anything other than what he held in his hand.

A dagger.

But it didn't stay that way forever. The sands cleared and he merged with the world around him once more. Sights and smells and sounds bombarded him and he looked around, a little dazed.

Until one particular voice caught his attention.

"Prince Dastan! Prince Dastan!"

Turning, his foggy mind still struggling to catch up, he said incredulously, "Bis? You're here!"

"Of course I'm here," replied his long-time friend, looking at him a little strangely. "Our men have surrounded Alamut's palace. The battle is over."

The battle. Images hit him all at once. Of days spent crossing the dry desert, of crawling through darkened passages, and the dull memory of a throbbing ache in his shoulder.

The Sandglass. Tamina. Garsiv. _Nizam_.

But visions wared in his mind. A recollection of the chilling sound of his name echoing through the Sandglass chamber in a blood-curdling scream as Tamina plummeted into the chasm below fought against the not so distant memory of her pressed against him with her lips brushing his as their hands gripped the glass hilt of the dagger. Prince Dastan couldn't make sense of time in his mind, but even in the confusion he knew one thing.

He had to hurry.

"Not yet."

Leaving Bis' side he dashed through the city, pushing past scurrying citizens and straggling soldiers, keeping his eye on the palace and the tip of the temple that could be seen above the stone and clay buildings. Bursting through into an open square, he saw several soldiers laying canvases and rugs out on the grounds, setting pegs into the dirt and putting together a makeshift camp.

He recognised this place. He and his men had made camp here five weeks ago.

They truly had already overcome Alamut's forces. Again.

Spotting one of his own men amongst the bustling crowd, Dastan hailed him over. "Roham," he panted, recalling a time not too long ago when he'd saved this man from what would have been a deadly blow from the hand of his own brother. That had been in Nasaf. That had been well over a week ago.

But in reality, it had never actually happened.

Clearing his mind of those thoughts, he clasped the man by the shoulder and asked, "Has the army moved in on the palace? Where are Garsiv and Tus?"

"They're approaching the palace now," Roham replied, frowning slightly. "They plan to confront the Alamutian royals."

_Tamina. _"Which way did they go?"

Dastan was off before the man could even turn fully. Seeing him motion down one street out the corner of his eye, the Prince raced down the cobbled path, weaving through the ever growing crowds of people. He must be close.

A fanfare sounded close by and he could see the Persian banners and the steps of the High Temple rising above the heads of the people crowding around him. Frustrated that he couldn't get through, Dastan drew one of his swords and yelled out a harsh, "Move!"

The Alamutians, already frightened and wary of the army who had barged its way into their city, immediately scattered out of his way, leaving a clear path leading to the large open courtyard where the army and the royal guard had gathered. Sheathing his sword once more, Dastan ran through and into the middle of the gathered army. Soldiers around him moved away in surprise, but he ignored them all.

He only had eyes for Nizam, Garsiv, and Tus who were riding slowly through the square toward the grand white marble staircase. They were moments away from overrunning Alamut's palace.

Again.

Not again.

"Wait!" Racing through the soldiers, ignoring their cheering for their victorious monarchs, Dastan pushed men aside in his haste to reach the palace stairs before his brothers. "Wait!"

Ironically, it was Nizam who first heard him and turned in surprise.

Brushing off the congratulatory pats on the back that he was receiving from his comrades, he fought his way through and began to ascend the marble staircase to gain some ground, ahead of Tus, Garsiv, Nizam and their company. He needed to stop this _now_. The crowd parted around him and he turned to address the masses that had gathered.

"Brave soldiers of Persia, we have been deceived into attacking this holy city!" Out of the corner of his eye he could see that his family had dismounted, looks of confusion clouding their features. "Alamut has no weapon forges."

Murmuring rang out around him, but above the din he could hear Garsiv's throaty chuckle. His brother apparently thought Dastan's words a joke, until Tus began to speak.

"Dastan," scolded their eldest brother, looking around with a tight smile on his face. "Have you gone mad?"

He truly thought he had when the possibility first occurred to him, but almost five weeks had passed since then. "I cannot stay silent in the face of treachery. This war was set up by one trusted above all others." Pointing at the very man, who was walking up the marble staircase with a growing look of concern on his face, Dastan accused loudly, "Our Uncle Nizam."

Climbing higher than where Dastan stood, making a show of his superiority over the boy, Nizam addressed the masses with a convincing smile on his face. "Dastan has fought hard today, perhaps too hard. What he needs now is to get out from under this burning sun to rest and gather his wits!"

The men surrounding them laughed, but the Prince could only look up at Nizam with derision on his face. The nerve. Weeks of hatred for the man he thought of as family built and burned inside of him, but he had to control himself if he was to get through this.

He couldn't let himself be locked behind the iron bars of the Alamutian dungeons, not again.

"The weapons we found are forgeries! There are no weapons here Uncle, and you know it. And the 'spy' who supposedly intercepted them was hired by you," Turning to face the shocked crowd around them he yelled, "To pursued all of us to invade Alamut!"

Three times he had stood on these stairs, once before to accuse his Uncle of orchestrating the entire attack against the city. But never had he felt this tug of desperation.

If he failed again to protect his family, what then?

"What is this Dastan, victor's remorse?" said his Uncle behind him, his voice carrying easily in the relative silence that Dastan's words had wrought. "You yourself lead the attack! Brought us this great triumph!" He looked smug and far too confident, and Dastan felt his resolve waver – but then strengthen once more. Nizam knew nothing of his involvement and had no knowledge of his ever being locked away for calling traitor against the King's brother. It wasn't like before. Now Nizam would never know, he would never remember a time that by all accounts had never actually come to pass.

Garsiv began to ascend the stairs as their Uncle spoke, looking more and more concerned for Dastan and seemingly needing to be closer to his brother's side. A show of solidarity, perhaps, as the Persian army cheered at Nizam's words.

Smiling knowingly, Dastan addressed the soldiers and his brothers. "I should never have let the attack happen." Below them Tus looked around, stunned, and similar expressions were mirrored on the faces of the soldiers around them at the younger Prince's words. Setting his gaze on his eldest brother, he added, "When I knew in my heart that it was wrong."

Tus climbed the last few steps to join Garsiv, his shock and confusion morphing into consideration and musing.

Turning away from the two of them, Dastan marched up the stairs, planting himself directly in front of Nizam and staring him in the eye. He felt no love for this man, this traitor. He had loved his Uncle, but this man was not the member of his family he had come to know over his years as a Persian Prince. This man was not his family.

Leaning close, Dastan murmured, "It will _never_ be you. You will never be King. You don't have the heart." Nizam tried to look away, his gaze drifting to the crowd standing close around them, but Dastan continued regardless. Nizam needed to know he had failed. "You will die in the shadow of a great man."

Nizam's fleeting smile slowly faded at those last words and the soldiers standing close enough to hear them started murmuring amongst themselves as what he had said spread quickly through their ranks.

Again the memory of another time flashed through his mind, of the same actions being repeated in similar circumstances happening to him in another time, and he watched as a frustrated Nizam instinctively dropped a hand to the hilt of his sword.

_Draw_, Dastan thought to himself, his gaze lifting from the sheathed sword to his Uncle's face. _Draw it, end this …_ But once again, Nizam simply let the weapon fall to his side, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Garsiv, seeing the exchange, gestured at the royal guard and yelled, "Get him down from there before he makes an even bigger fool of himself!"

But Dastan moved past the man who had started forward, ignoring him completely, to address his eldest brother. "Tus, before you left Nasaf father told you this." Descending the stairs, determined to convince his brothers by any means possible, he stood before them and looked Tus in the eye. "That a true King considers the advice of counsel, but always listens to his own heart."

Tus, looking suspicious and perplexed, spoke slowly as he thought over the words. "Father and I were alone. How could you know that?"

Dastan, sensing Nizam moving in to stand close behind him, brushed Tus' question aside and instead replied, "He was right. He knows us and he knows what we're capable of. Just listen to your heart." He stood still, his gaze seeking his brother's, imploring him to listen to reason. He had to believe that the bond they shared would be enough. He prayed that it would be enough.

"He defies your order in the attack and now wants to turn back," Nizam murmured, seeking to sway Tus' decision as he always had. It hadn't gone unnoticed by the younger Princes that in grooming Tus to be the future King, Nizam had also earned himself the power of influence over their brother's decisions. But for once Tus' eyes stayed trained on Dastan's face, seeking answers for this unexpected claim. "Tus," their Uncle said, drawing his attention away. "Take measure here."

Nizam's tone sounded almost pleading, but Dastan had to agree with his words. Tus did need to take measure.

Tus looked torn, not knowing which of the two he should listen to. His father's most faithful advisor, a man they had all relied on since birth to always have a guiding word, or his own brother who he would trust with his life?

But he couldn't decide. "The spy knows the truth," he said finally, his distress and uncertainty clear in every word. "Find the spy, bring him to me! We'll _wring _it from him!"

Though the fear of a repeat in time ripped through him at those words, Dastan understood his decision. As always his brother had chosen the diplomatic option, a third party that would give him the answer he sought. But the last time Tus had spoken to the paid spy that Nizam had hired, Dastan had been dragged into the cold stone dungeons below the Alamutian city. Tamina had told him once before that some aspects of time could not be changed, no matter what one did to prevent them.

But Dastan forced his thoughts away, instead nodding understandingly at his brother. He looked to his Uncle then and his expression set as his eyes hardened. The man didn't seem to like that the eldest chose not to believe his words. Nizam met his gaze for just a moment before his eyes dropped away, thinking about what had just happened and how it had come about.

High above them, looking down from the uppermost chamber of the Temple, Princess Tamina watched the exchange with thinly veiled curiosity. Sound couldn't travel as far as where she stood, but it would have been hard to mistake what was unfolding on the ground below.

One warrior had stopped the march on her palace. One warrior had brought the entire Persian army to a halt.

"Find out who he is and what he has said," she murmured quietly to the man at her side, her champion and closest advisor. They were alone at the open archway, but behind them the room was filled with priests, servants and chanting council members. Their conversation was not private even within the walls of the High Temple.

"He's the man who attacked me and stole the item from my grasp," was his short reply.

Startled by the news, Tamina turned to look at him, watching as his hard gaze never strayed from the scene below. "He has the dagger."

It had been more of a statement than a question, and a single nod was the only reply she was given. Her eyes strayed to his battered arm, which he held closely to his side. This warrior may have ceased the attack but he was still Persian and he had stolen from them. He had stolen something sacred and they must get it back.

About to order that the dagger be retrieved from the warrior's possession, by any means necessary, Tamina paused. Once again her gaze was drawn downward and she watched silently as the Persian royals and the warrior retreated from the steps of the palace.

"Princess Tamina?" queried the trembling voice of the elderly Regent. "Princess, the Persians have what they came here for will surely now leave. Perhaps we should consider retrieving what is ours before it is lost?"

But she didn't speak. Her mind called for retribution, but something deep inside told her to stay her hand until she spoke with the Persians, or the warrior himself. Something told her that this man should not be killed.

"We will wait," Tamina said, loud enough for her voice to be heard throughout the open room. The High Council members immediately protested her decision, but one look from her advisor had them silenced. "They will seek me out eventually and only then will we determine a course of action." Her tone was resolute. Her word was final.

Her champion bent close, murmuring into her ear, "Are you sure that is wise, Princess?"

Of course she wasn't sure. "Keep an eye on him, Asoka. Follow his every move. Make sure he does not leave the city."

Watching as he bowed and moved to do her bidding, Tamina looked back down at the swarm of enemy soldiers littering her city in time to see the Persian Princes locked once more in argument.

"We will head to camp," Tus said quietly to his two brothers as he collected the reins of his horse. "We need to work this out in private."

"Now? We're on the steps of the palace! Tus, we need to press our advantage."

"We'll lose any ground we have if we don't present a united front, Garsiv," Tus replied, frowning and looking around at the soldiers crowded close. Too many ears were listening in on their conversation already. "We cannot venture further until this matter is solved."

Cursing, Garsiv gestured behind him and warned, "We'll lose Alamut."

"We won't," Dastan said surely, stepping between the two. His words stopped them short and both brothers looked at Dastan, considering him. Keeping his eye trained on their Uncle who stood several horse-lengths away, he added, "Retreat is the wisest course if we are to have any hope of a peaceful reconciliation here."

However, Garsiv wouldn't settle for that. "We'll barricade them in. Soft actions will only make us seem weak. An army on their doorstep will force their cooperation."

Thinking of the myriad of tunnels crossing beneath the palace, the temple, and the city itself, Dastan shook his head, holding out a hand of warning as he began to say, "That won't—"

But he was cut off. Laying a subduing hand against his arm, Tus shook his head. "You've said enough, Dastan." He spoke quietly, but his words were firm.

Dastan wasn't out of the woods just yet. He still had to prove what he knew.

Gaze trailing high above them, over the vaulted roof of the Alamutian palace, Dastan looked for a moment at the spiralling tower of the temple. He'd need Tamina's help if he was going to convince his brothers of Nizam's treachery.


	2. Chapter 2

"Tell us what you know, brother."

After moving in relative silence from the steps of the palace though the Alamutian streets and back to their makeshift camp, Dastan was startled when Tus finally spoke to him. The only words Tus had exchange with anyone as they walked were to a runner, requesting council with the Alamutians. After that, the promise of his questioning had hung in the air as they moved and now the three brothers were alone, or as alone as they could be beneath the heavy gold and red swathes of the tented canvas surrounding them, separating them from their gathered armies outside. He should have expected the demand.

"I thought we were to find the spy?" Garsiv interjected. His hand as always lay on the hilt of his sword as he circled the confined space, his unrest evident in every step.

Eyes trailing from one brother to the other and back, Tus nodded slowly. "But what provoked that outburst, Dastan? What on God's earth happened between bringing down the Eastern gate and our march on the palace to make you doubt Nizam's claims?"

"Oh, I don't doubt them," Dastan replied as his mind raced. A pounding heart and the need to convince his brothers of the truth without sacrificing Tamina's secrets urged him on. "I know _without _a doubt that Nizam fabricated the whole thing – the caravans, the treaty with Kosh, all of it – in order to force your hand. This entire endeavour, marching on Koshkan causing our army to ride past the valley where Alamut lies, was brought about by his meddling."

"No," Tus said forcefully. "Our Father called for the attack on Koshkan."

"But you said yourself, Tus, Alamut was not to be touched. That some, our Father included, considered it sacred."

A bark of laughter drew both Princes attention and Garsiv gestured around, indicating the city beyond the tent's canvas walls. "This? Whatever these decaying walls are hiding can't have been too damn 'sacred' if Dastan's rabble of soldiers could overcome them."

Frowning, choosing to ignore their brother, Tus turned back to Dastan. "They are supplying weapons to our enemies. Kosh's numbers grow by the day and any ally of his has to be quashed before he becomes a problem even our forces can't handle. Alamut included, Holy City or not."

"But _there are no forges here_," Dastan replied between gritted teeth, relying on the only argument he had that wouldn't raise suspicion. The press of the Dagger of Time wedged securely into the side of his boot felt like a weight on his shoulders, forcing him to keep his mouth shut and not bring to light anything that could alert his brothers to the existence of the Sands of Time. For now, until he had a chance to speak to Tamina, he had to keep everything he knew quiet. "Search the city, Tus! You'll see that there are none."

Silence once again fell as Dastan's two older brothers considered him and his words. Moments ticked by, and with them his trepidation rose.

Until Garsiv finally spoke. "We've already received word from our father. He rides to Alamut with a company of the royal guard this very day."

"He's interrupted his prayers at the Eastern Palace?" Tus queried, his unusually tight voice belying the calmly asked question. Their Father would be beyond disappointed that they had disobeyed his orders. "Then we must wait here for him. We will search for the spy and hold him until our Father arrives."

Dastan's uneasiness only grew at his brother's words. "But what of Nizam? The longer we wait the longer he has to plan a new strategy."

"Strategy!" Garsiv mocked, still slowly prowling at the walls of the tent. "Missing forges, lies, plans, strategies; where is all this coming from, Dastan?"

But before he could answer, before he could even begin to formulate a reply that might satiate his rightly curious brothers, a liveried emissary cleared his throat and slipped through the tent entrance. "Your highnesses, the Alamutians are awaiting your presence."

_Tamina._

A quick nod from Tus sent the messenger on his way, but the unanswered question still lingered in the air.

"We have much to discuss about what happened today, little brother," Tus said quietly. Glancing at the disturbed cloth hanging at the tent entrance, the footfalls of close-by soldiers easily seen through the gap in the hanging, he then raised a finger in warning. "But not now."

"But Tus," Dastan started, ignoring the warning look Tus then shot him. "Say you will do something about Nizam. Set a guard with him, confine him to his quarters, _something_. At least until our Father arrives."

"Dastan—" Garsiv began, but Tus interrupted him.

"You cannot yet prove he has done any wrong, brother. He is not our prisoner."

His hopes falling and fears rising at just those few words, Dastan nodded curtly, stepping aside to allow his brothers to proceed him out the tent. But Garsiv hung back, gripping his arm to speak with him quietly as their brother stalked away. "I'll watch him," he conceded, looking Dastan in the eye. "But that's all we can do."

Holding Garsiv's gaze for a moment longer, he simply nodded once more before following after their brother.

* * *

><p>Why did he not look away?<p>

For many years now since she had grown from adolescence, Tamina had been no stranger to the lingering glances men sent her. But the knowing glint in this Persian's eyes made her skin itch and tingle and her heart beat a little faster. She couldn't even begin to fathom why she reacted in such a way, but that awareness of him combined with her hesitancy earlier to allow Asoka to use any means to retrieve the Dagger set her on edge.

What were the Gods trying to tell her about this man?

"Princess of Alamut, I come before you today asking for forgiveness," the Persian heir announced as he stood on the steps of her royal throne.

A calm mask on her face as she forced herself to assess each of the men and the soldiers standing before her, Tamina heard several of the council members shifting behind her at Prince Tus' words.

This was not quite what they had expected.

"We believe we were misled, Princess, to attack your city."

The urge to glance away to the robed man with far too intelligent eyes who stood behind the Prince almost overwhelmed Tamina, but she kept her gaze forward, tilting her chin slightly to acknowledge the Persian's words. Though it hadn't escaped her notice that the warrior she had watched from the High Temple earlier – a Prince! – stood with one man separating him and the eldest, robed man among the Persian royals.

She also didn't miss the way his gaze finally darted away from her to the older man, the Uncle, at her next words. "I had heard of the trouble stirring within your ranks, Prince Tus."

Stories and retellings had filtered back to their ears from the people of the streets over the last few hours, tales of exactly what had happened on the steps of the palace. That Prince Dastan, a man of no real blood relation to the Persians, had accused his own Uncle of orchestrating the attack on their city.

The Regent and council members' suspicions had been confirmed. The Persians had been in search of the Dagger, and this Prince Dastan now hid it in his possession.

Prince Tus faltered slightly under her gaze, his confidence in standing before her dropping as she stared him down, waiting for his reply. "We don't know as yet what the reason behind this was, but I assure you we will get to the bottom of the matter."

"And in the meantime?" She asked before any of the High Council members could interrupt with the same question. Unlike the Persians, she wasn't willing to show any kind of flaw in her rule over her people. A united front, impenetrable. Or at least they were, until that very morning when these heathens had brought down their walls and lay waste to their defences. "What do you intend to do?"

"I need to make a request of you. We wish to stay in the city, Princess. Moving on now while there is unrest among our men would be foolish."

A low hum of voices rose behind her as council members murmured their outrage, but Tamina's own reaction was decidedly different. The Persians did not wish to leave, despite the fact that they had already retrieved the Dagger. What then were they after? "You have no intention of moving on?"

At her words the Prince's eyes sharpened and he finally displayed some backbone. "We may have attack this city in error, but we have still conquered your people. It would be …" Prince Tus paused then, choosing his words carefully. "_Unwise_ to suggest we leave. At the least it would only attract marauders to attempt to gain entry past your already weakened defences. It would be to our mutual advantage for our armies to remain here, Your Highness."

"_Mutual advantage …?_" She could hear the Regent splutter behind her, and Tamina gritted her teeth.

He spoke the truth, damn him. Persia had already overcome what weapons and strength they had. Tamina had no authority at this moment to throw them out of her own city, which by all rights now belonged to the men standing before her, and she couldn't very well run the risk of leaving her people vulnerable to attack without the Persians still occupying their lands.

The only glimmer of hope was that this would give Asoka more time to track the Dagger and have it returned to them.

"I will not pretend to like the idea," she warned Tus, looking him in the eye and raising her chin defiantly when his eyes narrowed at her tone. "But I'll allow it."

"_Allow it! If that wretch knows what's good for her—_" Whatever the other Prince had been able to say she'd never know, for she saw Prince Dastan deal a swift elbow to the man's side, silencing him. Despite her annoyance at the man's words, her lips twitched slightly at the scene and it was that moment that he glanced back up and met her gaze.

The slow smile that spread across his features as he looked at her sent her heart skittering once more.

Resisting the urge to scowl at her own wayward emotions, Tamina addressed Prince Tus once more. "If you Persians will excuse me, I must see to my people."

"Your people are safe," Tus assured her dismissively.

"I'm not sure they would agree with you, Prince Tus. They've just had the full might of the great Persian army brought down on their doors." If the sarcastic tone of her voice didn't alert him to her mounting anger, presenting her back to him as she stood to walk away would have.

Hearing both a furious splutter and a low, amused laughter following her, and knowing exactly who the two sounds had come from, helped alleviate some of her frustrations with these people. But the eerie sensation of being closely watched, of one bright blue set of eyes following her as she left the throne room, left her on edge.

She needed to know what the Gods had in store for her and this Prince Dastan.

* * *

><p>Tamina was adept at concealing her real thoughts and feelings, especially from him. Even though Dastan felt as if he knew her well and could decipher anything she kept hidden, he'd discovered that morning that he just couldn't read her. Tamina had been aloof and understandably furious with Tus and indeed all of the Persians, and yet for those brief moments when their eyes locked there was a fission of emotion, a sense of understanding that passed between the two of them. But no recollection had flickered in her eyes, no sign of her returned feelings for him, and Dastan couldn't make sense of it.<p>

Did she remember, or didn't she? How soon would their history together come flooding back?

All Dastan knew for the moment was that he had to get word to her. He had to speak with her and warn her of what was happening, of the danger she, the Dagger and the Sandglass were in.

But he wouldn't be so consumed with this sense of urgency if Nizam wasn't walking the streets of Alamut unhindered. During the day their Uncle had strolled the cobbled paths and markets with the soldiers, speaking with the people and behaving perfectly in tune with the bureaucrat he was supposed to be, causing Tus to glance meaningfully in Dastan's direction on more than one occasion. Dastan's only consolation was that at least the man was never out of sight.

Light-footed men, soldiers better suited for messenger work than the wars they had chosen to take part in, were scouting the streets and camps, retracing the army's steps to try and locate the spy, but as was expected the man was proving far too elusive. Nizam had helpfully suggested that the man may have already left their ranks to pursue his business in Nasaf, or perhaps was continuing his work following Koshkan's movements beyond their borders.

Dastan had barely been able to contain his derision at the suggestion. Of course the spy had fled; Nizam would have ordered it so. It was no coincidence that the King's _most trusted advisor_ also controlled the Kingdom's covert operations.

The news, of course, only aided Nizam's cause and put Dastan's claims into further doubt. Tus refused to condemn their Uncle until they could uncover some definitive proof that the Alamutians supposed treaty with Kosh was indeed faked.

That made it all the more important for him to contact Tamina immediately.

It would do him well to go about it properly, though. Send a messenger, request he meet with her, at least appear to be more than the invading barbarians she believed them to be. But Nizam couldn't know he was meeting with Tamina. Giving the old man proof that he knew more than just what he'd said on the steps on the palace would be madness, and no doubt Nizam would spin some tale of his own to make Tus and Garsiv view Dastan's actions with suspicion.

Plotting with the enemy, hiding evidence. He wouldn't put it past Nizam to plant the seed of doubt in his brothers' minds.

Upon returning to Alamut's streets, Dastan sought out the one man he knew he could trust. "Bis," he murmured, taking the other man by the arm and leading him aside as they stood together at the remains of their make-shift camp. Around them soldiers moved, packing away goods and wares as they prepared to be housed within the city's palace and barracks. "I need you to get a message to the Princess for me."

"The Princess," Bis repeated, staring at Dastan for a moment. "The Princess of Alamut?"

Frowning, Dastan replied, "What other Princess is there around these parts?" Ignoring the way his long-time friend's eyes turned dubious and wary, he continued. "Tell her … tell her it is safe, for now. Tell her to meet me tonight, wherever she wants, as long as it's private."

"'It is safe for now'? Dastan, what …?" Bis trailed off looking more and more unsure about what was being asked of him.

If Bis wouldn't even trust him, what then? "You've never questioned me before."

At that his friend finally laughed, his face clearing of the worried expression for a moment. "Have too. All the time, about everything."

Chuckling softly, Dastan looked the other man in the eye and asked, "Will you tell her?"

There was a moment's pause. "I'll tell her."

* * *

><p><em>At first she struggled, her breath coming out in sharp pants as she ran and ran, fleeing. Shaky hands tore at the misty clouds hovering around her and all the while she kept glancing back over her shoulder, eyes searching, trying to find what it was she was running from.<em>

_But gradually, eventually, the need to escape subsided and she slowed to a halt, allowing herself a moment to look around as she caught her breath. Swirls of white mist clung to her skin and hair, weaving softly through the air around her as if moved by some gentle breeze, and yet she felt nothing. Not the wind against her arms or even the soft whistle of it about her. Turning on the spot she looked around, but for as far as she could see there was just … nothing, for eternity. Nothing but her and the mist._

_That's when it started. The fury hit her first, its potent anger slashing through the mist around her in swaths of red and black, bringing her to her knees with its powerful force. But almost immediately afterward a crippling sense of foreboding and fear swept through in greys and made her eyes prickle with unshed tears, followed quickly by the plum purple of confusion. The three emotions bombarded her, weighing heavily on her mind and forbidding her to move as colours flashed through the mist all around her._

_It was as if she was blind, unable to see past her own feelings as they clouded around her._

_For they were her feelings, of that she had no doubt._

_It wasn't until an indescribable tenderness washed over her in a sea of blue that she could finally free herself from their binding force. For a time that tenderness embraced her, pushing away the coldness of the previous attacks of emotion. It warmed her and stirred a spark of hope from deep within her._

_She raised her head then, looking up and meeting the brightest of blue eyes she had ever seen. For the first time since she had entered this realm she felt the warmth of something touching her shoulder._

_"Tamina."_

A hand shook her roughly, rousing her from her sleep.

"Tamina. Princess?"

Eyes fluttering open, Tamina looked up at the person hovering over her. But instead of blue eyes and the young, battle-worn face she had expected, she met the worried brown eyes of their eldest Priestess. "Ellera?"

Moving aside the older woman's hand, Tamina shifted in her bed to sit upright – and immediately groaned, clutching at her head as a throbbing ache spiked behind her eyes.

"Princess, it is one of the Persians. He wishes to speak with you."

The confusion from her dream instantly disappeared, taking the aching of her head with it, as Priestess Ellera's words sunk in. _Dastan_. His were the eyes and face she had seen in her dream, and what a dream. It was unlike any she had envisioned before.

But the Prince wanted to speak with her. "Is he here now?"

The Priestess sat at the edge of her bed, her eyes still creased with worry as she looked back at Tamina. "No, his man requested I deliver the message to you. He wishes to meet at a private place of your choosing."

Was that what her dream had foreshadowed? What were the Gods trying to tell her? Their message was as foggy as her dream had been, and completely different to any message they had tried to send her in the past. Visions, snippets of a time that was yet to come or had already passed, those were the norm. Not this jumble of emotions and colours. They represented _something_, she just couldn't pinpoint _what_.

"Sometimes I despise the fickle nature of the Gods," Tamina muttered, and Ellera merely nodded sympathetically. Sighing, the Princess slipped from the warmth of her bed, padding softly across the floor of her room to push open the wooden shutters of her window. A beautiful sunset cast a glow over her lands, and as Tamina looked at the burnt sky she thought of that first flash of anger that had shaken her so in the dream.

It was not dissimilar to the fury she had felt when the Persians had first invaded. The fear she could certainly attribute to the loss of the Dagger, and the confusion was obviously her uncertainty over that wretched dream! But if she concentrated, Tamina could concede that her recent confusion was more to do with the unexpected connection she felt for the Persian Prince.

And yet that all somehow felt wrong. She had this innate knowledge that these feelings were caused by something else. But what else? What else had happened to her recently to evoke such strong reactions?

"He also said …"

Turning when Ellera trailed off, Tamina looked to the Priestess and prompted, "He said …?"

"He said … that it is safe, for now."

"_It_…?"

_The dagger_.

She didn't even have to utter the words for Ellera to understand her. The woman nodded sagely as their eyes met, and Tamina felt some of her fear slip away, only to be replaced by caution and suspicion.

_For now._ Was that a threat or a warning?

"Very well." Giving the older woman her instructions, she thanked her and watched as Ellera left to deliver her return message.

Perhaps Prince Dastan would give her the answers she sought.


	3. Chapter 3

"Dastan!"

The furious hiss echoed through the otherwise deserted hall around him, catching Dastan by surprise.

He wasn't sneaking. He was a Persian warrior, a Prince at that, and there was really no reason why he couldn't be walking the marbled halls of the palace late at night. He'd tried to keep his presence secret regardless. Relief had taken hold when he received Tamina's message of when and where their meeting was supposed to be, but the need to not be seen and for their meeting to go unnoticed had forced him to quieten his steps and stay hidden in the shadows as he walked.

With the lateness of the hour, he hadn't been expected anyone, let alone his own brother, to appear from behind him.

"What are you doing here, little brother?"

Dastan turned to confront Garsiv, who stood only a few steps away with a curious expression on his face. From his attire Dastan would have assumed that his brother had been ready to turn in for the night, and yet his sword was cinched securely at his waist.

Garsiv watched Dastan, his curiosity mounting with every moment that passed. It seemed he'd determined Dastan's motives for himself. "You do not have to keep vigil of the entire palace yourself, Dastan," he hissed. "I told you I'd have my men keep an eye out. Don't forget he's a member of our family, not our prisoner, and certainly not a threat."

"Trust me brother," Dastan said, a wry smile on his face. "I know Nizam's not our prisoner." But he _should_ be.

It was almost humorous how wrong Garsiv was of his intentions that night. No doubt Dastan's thoughts should be on Nizam, on stopping him and bringing him to justice. But his mind had been focussed on Tamina; on seeing her again, being in her presence, and speaking to her about their shared past.

Protecting her city and the dagger, and preparing for the future Nizam sought to bring down on their heads, could wait until another evening.

But when Dastan said no more and only the sounds of the night echoed through the hall around them, Garsiv let out a soft growl of frustration. Taking Dastan's arm, he pulled him aside into an alcove.

"I don't like what you've accused him of," his brother muttered quietly. "But while we're still unable to find the spy we must wait for Father's arrival, and his council. Until then we have to tread carefully."

Shaking his head, Dastan fought down the need to scoff at his brother's ignorance. "I know what's at stake, Garsiv." _More so than anyone else_.

"He's still our Uncle, Dastan, as well as a brother and advisor to the King of Persia." Looking at him with earnest, his voice still low, Garsiv asked, "If you can't prove your accusations, what then?"

_What then?_

As the soft tread of others' footsteps began to echo around them his brother looked about, wary of prying eyes and eager ears.

"I must move on." He pinned Dastan with one last pointed look, and added, "You should too. The men have heard your misgivings about this assault. They'll report to Tus if they see you sneaking about." With that warning, Garsiv stepped away and strode off.

Dastan silently cursed as he watched his brother leave, damning Nizam for everything he had done and for the rift he continued to drive between the brothers.

And Tus had their soldiers spying on him? However was he to see Tamina, let alone speak with her?

Holding in his frustrations, Dastan looked forlornly at the marbled hallways that lead to where Tamina waited for him. His thoughts warred, but in the end he cursed, and returned the way he came.

He couldn't risk it, not tonight. He couldn't risk the mistrust of his brothers if he was caught. Vowing to have Bis speak with Tamina again, Dastan slipped away.

The night was still once more.

But then, out of the darkness, two figures stepped into the moonlight.

"There. Do you see?"

"Dastan has always been a light sleeper. A midnight walk—"

"He is plotting something, mark my words. He should be watched, as should the Alamutians. We have to know who is feeding him information."

"You're not above suspicion yourself, Uncle."

"I understand, my boy. You must be ever watchful in these dark times. You never know where the arrow of treason may fly from."

"Let us pray the arrow does not fly true."

"Of course, dear boy. Of course. "

* * *

><p><em>Where was Tamina?<em>

Bis had sworn he'd delivered the message and that she had agreed to meet him. He did not want to risk being discovered in the cover of darkness again.

But here, out in the open streets where markets bubbled with life and noise, a chance meeting between a Prince and a Princess could be overlooked.

He stood to the side, admiring the light but sturdy work of a tanner when he spotted her. A familiar pale cloak hid her figure and face, but he'd recognise her anywhere.

With a glance and a nod of her head, she led him to an alley. It wasn't an ideal setting as the hustle of people and traders meant they weren't entirely alone, but the heavy noise of the market afforded them some privacy.

Allowing the hood of her cloak to fall far enough back to reveal her face, Tamina regarded him coolly.

"I feel like a vagrant, hiding my face in my own city."

Dastan nodded, understanding completely. "But all the better to see your city as it truly is." The streets of Nasaf and its people looked vastly different from the eyes of a Prince. Just as a Prince had looked entirely different to a poor orphan boy.

Ignoring his chatter and moving straight to the point, Tamina asked, "You have it then?"

"Have what?" He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the stone wall and feigning an air of innocence.

If looks could kill … "Do not toy with me, Prince."

Smirking, Dastan shook his head. "We hardly know each other well enough for that, Princess."

With a coy smile, and a complete change of demeanour, Tamina stepped forward. "Perhaps we should remedy that?" He shifted his stance, allowing her closer. His thoughts blossomed and his mind burned with images of the last time he held her, embraced her—

The tip of a blade pressed into his gut. Dastan cursed.

Would there ever be a time he didn't fall for that?

Clenching his jaw, he said, "Remind me to stop letting my guard down around you."

Though her eyes narrowed at his choice of words, Tamina pressed her advantage. "You're the man who stole the dagger and helped desecrate my city. You're a fool to think you can trust me. Give me back the dagger."

"No." His tone softened to a tease as he added, "Though you're welcome to search me for it."

To his surprise, Tamina's cheeks glowed red at his suggestion.

Hesitant, cautious, he added, "Or perhaps you'll learn to trust me again with its safety?" A tension settled over his shoulders. Did she truly not remember? Had their efforts to protect her memory all been for naught? "Or don't you know?"

There it was again, that hint of history, that clue that this Persian had knowledge of her that she didn't know herself. Tamina stared at him, allowing the confusion and doubt she was feeling to show on her face. His words and the unmistakable pleading behind them gave Tamina pause, unsure of what to say. His question … what was it he thought she knew? What kind of understanding had he imagined between them?

But he hadn't imagined it. She had felt the odd connection to him that first day, looking down at him from the High Temple. His presence in her dream had been more than a coincidence too, and seeing those same blue eyes staring at her now both calmed and unnerved her.

She lowered the dagger. Honesty would be the best course here. "I do not know what it is you speak of."

The disappointment in his eyes didn't falter, but he took her words in stride and nodded swiftly. "You will."

She stared at him a moment longer, the urge to tell him of her visions building until she couldn't hold back. "I dreamt of you," she blurted.

The sudden glint in his eyes gave new meaning to her words, causing her cheeks to heat and her heart to beat rapidly.

"I was battered by emotions as if they were physical," she said, hurrying to explain further and dispel the strange promise in his eyes. "Anger and fear, pummelling me, and the colours …"

She thought maybe her words wouldn't make sense, that he wouldn't understand her dreams were more than just random images. But the way Dastan's eyes brightened, and the hope that flashed across his features, gave her reason to believe he knew some of what she was experiencing.

The dagger. This meeting. His entirely odd behaviour … "Persian," she said. "What did you do?"

She hadn't meant heavy accusation to colour her words, but it stood to reason that the Gods had sent her this message for a purpose.

"We," he began pointedly, "Did what had to be done to protect the dagger." He took a deep breath. "And to protect you."

She was growing weary of the lack of answers and question-dodging. Dastan, and the Gods, held the answers she sought – why would neither of them deliver her from this confusion? "And were you as irksome then as you are now?"

"No doubt one of my many flaws." His grin set her stomach in knots. What was this strange power he had over her?

Blowing out a heavy breath in frustration, Tamina began to pace. "We have met before," she said, voicing her thoughts in an effort to make sense of them.

"Yes."

She knew that, but his confirmation of one part of this mystery helped her. "More than once?"

He hesitated only a moment. "Yes."

"And you know what kind of danger Alamut hides within its walls because of this past we share?"

This time there was no hesitation. The Prince's gaze hardened as he replied. "Yes."

Halting, Tamina looked up at him imploringly. "Then tell me what that danger is!"

"You should remember!" He burst out, the vehemence of his statement making her step back in surprise. Several passers-by glanced warily at them. She motioned for him to keep his voice low, but now that he had started, it seemed he couldn't be stopped. "Nizam remembered, the first time." It was Dastan's turn to pace, gesturing emphatically as he went. "He saw images, _his_ memories, of the time before. All because he manipulated the sandglass so his memories stayed intact."

He stepped toward her, a hand outstretched as if he meant to draw her toward him, but his fingers only ghosted her arm before dropping back to his side.

Tamina felt oddly bereft without the touch.

"You promised you would remember." His voice was so small, so soft, so totally defeated that she felt a pang in her chest.

"Then I will." Just when she had gone from being suspicious of this man to caring that he was hurting, she wasn't sure. This day had brought so many new revelations that she could only take it in stride to examine later. "Give it time."

"We may not have time."

Considering where they were, and what they were discussing, Tamina couldn't help but laugh at his words. "We will find time."

His lips kicked into a smile, and he nodded.

Motioning for them to leave, Tamina drew her hood back over her face, shielding her identify from the market beyond. But before they stepped out onto the busy street, she stopped him to ask one last question.

"Does anyone else know it is in your possession?"

Dastan shook his head. "Your Champion would suspect, though."

"I'll deal with Asoka. Just ... keep it safe."

* * *

><p><em>She stood in the mist again. There were no flashing colours this time. No crippling emotions battering her, just her and the mist.<em>

_Until a warmth touched her hand, causing her to turn and meet those brilliant blue eyes. Prince Dastan stood confidently at her side. He smiled at her and stretched an arm forward to brush away the mist, revealing … the Sandglass chamber._

_She frowned but looked forward, determined to learn of the past that had been stolen from her._

_Retreating images swirled across the glassy surface containing the sands. Three figures running through ancient corridors, a Priestess clutching at a woman in white, a flight across the dunes surrounding Alamut, and …_

_A battle between the Persians and a command of black-cloaked figures._

_Tamina blinked and shook her head. Looking away from the images, down at the base of the Sandglass, she saw two people locked in an embrace, their faces illuminated by the warm glow of the sands._

_She raised a hand to her lips, her eyes never leaving the couple until the sands of time swept them away._

_Oh my …_

_"Open your eyes."_

_"Excuse me?" she said, turning back to Dastan, having forgotten he'd been with her._

_"Something's happening, Princess."_

_His words were earnest, urging her to understand, to—_

"Wake up! Princess, you must wake up."

Waking from her deep meditation, Princess Tamina blinked and looked around the sky chamber of the temple, once again meeting not the blue eyes she was expecting but the worried brown eyes of Priestess Ellera. The older woman had been shaking her, trying to break her concentration.

"Something is happening at the gate."

Allowing herself a moment to silently berate the Priestess' awful timing, she nodded and moved to stand. Priestess Ellera took Tamina's hand and drew her to her feet, hurrying her through the temple. She had no more time to think on the images her meditation had shown as they rushed to the battered northern city entrance.

Guards were leading a farmer and his mule through the high arch as the two women neared. At the sight of Tamina, the farmer ducked his head and murmured a humble greeting.

"What is the matter?" Tamina asked, addressing the man. When he only shuffled nervously, his gaze still averted, she turned to the guards.

One of them drew the mule around, revealing the body lying on a thatched bed hitched to the animal. "Found this one collapsed in the fields, my Lady."

"Oh my," whispered Ellera.

Rushing forward, Tamina knelt to brush back the dirty grey hair of the man. His face was pale and deeply etched with age and pain. His forehead was covered with a thin sheen of sweat.

"What happened?"

Still no answer from the farmer, until one of the guards nudged him forward.

The farmer wrung his hands together. "Forgive me Princess, I don't know. Found him on the ground I did, his shoulder's been bit."

Drawing aside the canvas that covered the man's body, Tamina inspected the wound at his shoulder. His shirt and cloak had been viciously torn and stained with blood. The skin beneath was black and blue, puckered and mangled around two punctures.

But his garments themselves drew her eye. Pushing the canvas back further, Tamina gently ran the cloth of his cloak between her fingers. Beneath the stains of blood and muck the threads looked to be a rich red and gold.

_Persians._

"Princess," Ellera spoke up, interrupted her thoughts. "We must get this poor man to the palace."

"Yes, of course."

Carefully covering the old man once more, Tamina got to her feet and urged the guards to escort them to the palace with haste.

_I should enquire with Prince Tus,_ she thought to herself, but her mind lingered instead on Dastan.

When they reached the doors of the palace Tamina directed the guards to carry the man to their healers. Venomous bites were not uncommon and her healers were most skilled in their treatment.

"Sir," she called, stopping the farmer before he could retreat. "Please, do you recall anything else when you found the man? Was he alone?"

"I think so, Princess. Not another soul was out in them crops today, what with the sand dervishes out. Only went out there myself because they were spooking my goats." The farmer bowed deeply. "If it please you, my Lady, I'll be getting back now."

Frowning, Tamina nodded and let him go.

What was the old man doing wandering around outside the walls alone?

* * *

><p>Late afternoon, as the sun was sinking low into the horizon, Prince Tus paced out on his balcony, his eyes scanning all that he could see as he went.<p>

He grasped the stone wall, looking to the southern road that lead to Avrat.

_Father will be here any day._

Motioning for a servant to come forward, Tus made arrangements for a patrol to travel the road, to meet the King and escort him to the palace.

Nizam's words rung loudly in his ears. Be ever watchful.


End file.
